Number 2 (not the kid)
We put particularly stinky diapers in plastic grocery bags and set them next to the front door. I also put my lunch in a plastic grocery bag and set it next to the front door.
I know what you're thinking, but I did not sit down for lunch last week, smacking my lips, and open a bag full of dirty diapers. You've been watching too many sitcoms.
But a pre-coffee Maynor did pick up both bags last week and head to work. When I parked my car at work, I noticed that I had two bags and realized one was full of healthy treats and a sandwich, and the other was full of poo.
Again I should mention that I had not had any coffee yet, and that it was 7:00 am, for pete's sake. Which should explain a little bit why I was so stymied by the decision that lay ahead of me. Namely, would it be better to walk into work carrying a stinky diaper bag and risk passing a Publisher or a VP who might conclude that I had a personal hygiene problem--or at the very least some digestive issues? Or would it be better to leave the diaper bag in the car all day? It was tied shut, after all, and the day wasn't supposed to be so hot. And besides, where was I supposed to throw it away? I couldn't keep it in Cubicle 2240 trash all day. And I really shouldn't drop it into somebody else's trashcan. For one thing, there are only two diapered-baby parents in the whole department, and only one of us shops at the organic grocery store. It wouldn't be hard to track down the source. In hindsight, the option of taking the bag to the bathroom trash can occurs to me now as I write this, but there's still the risk of passing somebody's nose in the hall. So I decided to tie the bag tightly and leave it in the car.
Fast forward eight hours and an increase of 22 degrees Fahrenheit, and Brian walks back to the parking lot after a hard day's work, having long forgotten the early morning quandary.
I must admit that the single word that escaped my lips as I opened the door was both a curse word and an accurate description of the problem.
The stench was unimaginable. For eight hours in the growing heat, it had squeezed its way slowly out of the wrinkles in the bag and spread itself into every corner and every crack of my car. As a 1985 diesel Benz, my car already has a distinctive odor. But this new smell smeared itself onto every carpet fiber and chemically bonded itself to the vinyl seats and the foam cushions within.
People say they don't mind--perhaps even enjoy--the smell of their own baby's poop, and usually I might agree. But said bag contained Preschooler Poop, which is a whole different story. It would be tasteless here to list off all the kinds of dairy products and eggs and beans (not to mention bits of playdoh, dirt, and sundry unknowns) that my son had eaten in the last 48 hours, so I won't. But even then, the smell of his you-know-what is not generally unbearable. But heat it to 90 degrees, add diesel fuel and 20-year-old vinyl, and it's a whole new ballgame.
So I opened all the windows and the sunroof and drove off to pick up the kids at Nana's house. I pulled off at a gas station and dumped the bag off in an outside can. I cranked up the a/c to get as much new air as possible, and even waved my arms around all the way to her house in Chesterfield.
Nana helped me load up the kids, and by that time I wasn't sure if my nose had become used to the smell--like perhaps all my olfactory nerves had shriveled up--or if I had done a good job airing it out and the smell had dissipated. In any case, I couldn't smell it anymore, and I didn't ask her if she smelled it. She didn't volunteer any opinions about the smell of my car. The boys didn't offer any opinions either, but then one of them can't talk, and one kind of likes bad smells, so they're not really reliable witnesses.
But we made it home fine, nobody suffocated, and I've driven around with the windows open for the last week, just for good measure.
But I know it's still there somewhere, because every once in a while I'll plop down onto the driver's seat in the morning and the puff of air coming out of the holes in the vinyl isn't just the diesel smell anymore.
And this morning, when I picked up the two Whole Foods bags next to the front door, I made sure to throw one of them in the carport garbage bin.
Lunch is coming up in an hour--I just hope I threw away the right one.
I know what you're thinking, but I did not sit down for lunch last week, smacking my lips, and open a bag full of dirty diapers. You've been watching too many sitcoms.
But a pre-coffee Maynor did pick up both bags last week and head to work. When I parked my car at work, I noticed that I had two bags and realized one was full of healthy treats and a sandwich, and the other was full of poo.
Again I should mention that I had not had any coffee yet, and that it was 7:00 am, for pete's sake. Which should explain a little bit why I was so stymied by the decision that lay ahead of me. Namely, would it be better to walk into work carrying a stinky diaper bag and risk passing a Publisher or a VP who might conclude that I had a personal hygiene problem--or at the very least some digestive issues? Or would it be better to leave the diaper bag in the car all day? It was tied shut, after all, and the day wasn't supposed to be so hot. And besides, where was I supposed to throw it away? I couldn't keep it in Cubicle 2240 trash all day. And I really shouldn't drop it into somebody else's trashcan. For one thing, there are only two diapered-baby parents in the whole department, and only one of us shops at the organic grocery store. It wouldn't be hard to track down the source. In hindsight, the option of taking the bag to the bathroom trash can occurs to me now as I write this, but there's still the risk of passing somebody's nose in the hall. So I decided to tie the bag tightly and leave it in the car.
Fast forward eight hours and an increase of 22 degrees Fahrenheit, and Brian walks back to the parking lot after a hard day's work, having long forgotten the early morning quandary.
I must admit that the single word that escaped my lips as I opened the door was both a curse word and an accurate description of the problem.
The stench was unimaginable. For eight hours in the growing heat, it had squeezed its way slowly out of the wrinkles in the bag and spread itself into every corner and every crack of my car. As a 1985 diesel Benz, my car already has a distinctive odor. But this new smell smeared itself onto every carpet fiber and chemically bonded itself to the vinyl seats and the foam cushions within.
People say they don't mind--perhaps even enjoy--the smell of their own baby's poop, and usually I might agree. But said bag contained Preschooler Poop, which is a whole different story. It would be tasteless here to list off all the kinds of dairy products and eggs and beans (not to mention bits of playdoh, dirt, and sundry unknowns) that my son had eaten in the last 48 hours, so I won't. But even then, the smell of his you-know-what is not generally unbearable. But heat it to 90 degrees, add diesel fuel and 20-year-old vinyl, and it's a whole new ballgame.
So I opened all the windows and the sunroof and drove off to pick up the kids at Nana's house. I pulled off at a gas station and dumped the bag off in an outside can. I cranked up the a/c to get as much new air as possible, and even waved my arms around all the way to her house in Chesterfield.
Nana helped me load up the kids, and by that time I wasn't sure if my nose had become used to the smell--like perhaps all my olfactory nerves had shriveled up--or if I had done a good job airing it out and the smell had dissipated. In any case, I couldn't smell it anymore, and I didn't ask her if she smelled it. She didn't volunteer any opinions about the smell of my car. The boys didn't offer any opinions either, but then one of them can't talk, and one kind of likes bad smells, so they're not really reliable witnesses.
But we made it home fine, nobody suffocated, and I've driven around with the windows open for the last week, just for good measure.
But I know it's still there somewhere, because every once in a while I'll plop down onto the driver's seat in the morning and the puff of air coming out of the holes in the vinyl isn't just the diesel smell anymore.
And this morning, when I picked up the two Whole Foods bags next to the front door, I made sure to throw one of them in the carport garbage bin.
Lunch is coming up in an hour--I just hope I threw away the right one.
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